


Blood on the Sand

by Akiko_Natsuko



Series: McHanzo [25]
Category: Overwatch (Video Game)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Blackmail, Blood and Injury, Blood and Violence, Broken Promises, Captivity, Fighting, Fighting Ring, Friendship, Guilt, Heavy Angst, Human Genji Shimada, Hurt, Imprisonment, Injury, M/M, Organized Crime, Promises, Recall doesn't happen, Secrets, Violence
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-11-04
Updated: 2018-11-04
Packaged: 2019-08-17 05:26:46
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 10,929
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16510205
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Akiko_Natsuko/pseuds/Akiko_Natsuko
Summary: Clawing his way back to consciousness was nothing new to Jesse McCree, but waking to find himself in cage was new. Captured McCree finds himself caught up in a fighting ring, with the only possibility of escape lying beyond a fight against the nameless 'Champion.'





	Blood on the Sand

   Sluggishly clawing his way back to his consciousness was nothing new to Jesse McCree, between his time in Deadlock and later Blackwatch he had spent an inordinate amount of time unconscious because of injuries or drinking himself into a stupor to forget about what was happening around him. Waking to find himself in cage was new. Well newish, he amended, remembering with no small amount of queasiness how he had found himself in the Blackwatch holding cells years ago, but at least that had been a room, whilst this, he swallowed as his gaze swept over the thick iron bars holding him prisoner, this looked to be a proper cage.

   Not quite trusting himself to sit up just yet, especially as the world seemed to be swaying from side to side even though he had done little more than move his head, he slowly moved his leg until it came up against the bars. So, he hadn’t been imagining that. He tapped the bar lightly with his foot, listening to the dull clang and immediately wincing as the noise seemed to be amplified in his head. Abandoning that he cautiously moved his arm, hissing as fresh pain made itself known with the movement and squinting he could vaguely make out the bruises covering his skin and what looked like a homemade bandage wrapped around his wrist.

  _Great_.

      He could still move though, but the pain would slow him down. Pushing that aside he reached upwards and gingerly examining his face and head, groaning when he felt a split lip, blood crusted under his nose and what felt like one hell of a black eye. Nothing new. What was more worrying was the blood he could feel on his forehead, and he traced its path, hissing when he found the gash hidden amongst his hair. It wasn’t as deep as it could be, but it was still a problem especially as he had clearly lost consciousness.

“I was starting to think they’d killed you.” The voice startled him, and he jolted upright, vision whiting out for a moment as pain lanced through his side. Ribs. He didn’t know if they were broken or just bruised, but they hurt like hell and he bit his lips, fighting the pull of unconsciousness as best he could, unwilling to be out when he knew he had to be surrounded with enemies. It took a couple of minutes for his vision to clear, the pain fading to dull throb in the background and he huffed out a relieved sigh, carefully easing himself back until he was resting against the bars.

   With the shift in position he had a better view of his surroundings. Or maybe that should be worse, something unpleasant settling in the pit of his stomach as he took in the rows of cages surrounding him, most of them occupied with men and women in various injured states. _What the hell is this?_ Remembering the voice, he shifted his head, hissing as it pounded in response to the movement and blinking when he took in the man leaning against the bars of the cage next to his, studying him with worried, brown eyes.

“Who are you?” McCree asked, voice hoarse. The other man grimaced in sympathy before pointing to a bowl in the corner that McCree hadn’t noticed before, and whilst he knew that it was probably risky to eat or drink anything from his captors, he knew he needed to drink and cautiously he inched towards it. Even moving slowly was tasking, his breath coming in short, sharp pants by the time he reached it and it took him a couple of attempts to grasp it and lift it to his lips. It was lukewarm and had a nasty, metallic taste but he still downed it, keeping half an eye on his companion and noticing the way the other man had paled slightly at the sight of his prosthetic hand. Finishing the water, he set the bowl aside, taking a deep breath before focusing on the man again. “So? Do you have a name?”

“We’re not allowed names here…” There was something in the other man’s voice that told McCree he had been there for some time, although a closer inspection revealed that whilst there were some nasty scars visible through the ragged shirt he was wearing, he was relatively unharmed in comparison to the people around them. Yet, despite that he looked downtrodden, broken, and McCree wasn’t expecting a proper response, when something flickered in the other man’s eyes. “Genji Sh…I was…am…Genji.” McCree noted the slip and filed it away, also noting the lack of last name and the way he had cut himself off but decided it wasn’t important for now.

“Jesse.” He didn’t want to give a full name either, at least not until he knew whether this Genji was trustworthy, fully aware that the bounties on his head would be attractive to anyone. “Where are we?” He wasn’t even sure where he’d been when he was taken, having been booted off the train in the middle of nowhere when someone had recognised him and tried to earn themselves a nice pay check only to end up with a concussion and the realisation that McCree wasn’t someone to mess with. He had managed to hike into a small town, but it had been late and he had wanted nothing more than a few drinks before he found a hole to crash in for the night. He could remember the pub and then nothing, so whether they had got him with something in his drink, or he had been drunk and heading out he didn’t know.

“Hell.”

   McCree blinked as he caught the quiet answer, inclined to laugh, but there was something in Genji’s expression that suggested the word was accurate and so he bit back the urge. _Hell_. He had been there a time or two already and he wasn’t keen to get caught up in another, and scowled, eyeing up the metal bars of the cage as a smirk worked its way across his face. They hadn’t taken his hand. Clearly, they hadn’t done their research, and glancing around to make sure there wasn’t any obvious cameras or guards he scooted across to the side, cursing under his breath as he felt something shift in his side. Damn, he had been hoping that his ribs were cracked at best, but luck didn’t seem to be on his side, and when he moved again he was more cautious. He didn’t want to do worse damage if he could help it, although if it was the only way to get out of here he would have to risk it, because staying caged up like a wild animal wasn’t acceptable. “Keep watch,” he ordered, sparing a glance at Genji who was still watching him intensely.

“What are…?”

“Keep watch,” McCree ordered, cutting him off. They could play twenty questions once they were out of here and thankfully Genji fell silent, looking around nervously and McCree prayed there were no cameras because it was obvious what the other man was doing. He didn’t complain though, instead reaching for a bar and wrapping his hand around it. Back when he had first lost his hand and got the prosthetic, he had hated the added strength, constantly worrying that he would hurt someone or break something and there had been accidents. Now though he was grateful for the added strength as he closed his hands and squeezed, waiting for the metal to crumple.

It didn’t.

   There was a groan, as though the metal was considering buckling, but even when he tightened his grip it didn’t give. He tried a new angle and another, with the same result. A chill creeping into him as he realised that his captors hadn’t been as naïve as he had thought in leaving him with his prosthetic and finally after a moment he abandoned his efforts, glaring at the metal which had only the slightest dent to show from his efforts. “Damn it.” Did they know about him? Had they prepared for this? The mere idea that they might have been hunting for him specifically left a foul taste in his mouth, because there were very few people out there who would be looking for anything but his head.

“No one has ever managed to escape…” Genji said softly after a moment and McCree grimaced, not wanting to explain why this was different.

“Now you tell me,” he said jokingly, but he could hear the strain in his voice and he knew Genji caught it as well and he cursed under his breath. He used to be a better liar, even able to fool himself at times, but that had been a long time ago, sighing he sank back against the bars. If he wasn’t getting out of here straight away, he had better learn what he was facing and hope that there would be an opening somewhere out there. “So, why are we here?” He already had an inkling. He wasn’t an idiot and the injuries on the people around him, the cages to keep them separate, the scars on Genji were all answers in and of themselves, but Reyes had spent long enough drilling into him not to take things at face value that even he’d had to take it onboard.

   Genji paled at the question and glanced away, hands clenching in his hands and McCree added it to the things to explore later. That wasn’t the reaction he had been expecting, it was almost as though Genji was blaming himself, and whilst McCree knew there was a chance that the other man was part of this, that he was there only to introduce McCree to whatever the hell he was caught up in. But there was something that he couldn’t quite put his finger on that told him that wasn’t the case. He was caught up in this too, but something was different and so he waited, biting back his questions, until Genji took a deep, shuddering breath before lifting his head and meeting his gaze.

“We fight and eventually we die.”

****

_We fight and eventually we die._

   McCree sighed as he poked unenthusiastically at the thin stew that had been shoved into his cage an hour ago. He had long since learned that the food and water weren’t being tampered with, but it didn’t make him any more eager to rely on his captors, especially when he knew why they were taking care of him. In the four days that he’d been here, five people had been taken away never to return, whilst a dozen others had been hauled out of the room and returned sporting injuries that should’ve landed them in hospital if they were anywhere else.

A fighting ring.

    Just as he had suspected even before Genji had replied, he had got caught up in a bloody fighting ring. It reminded him of Deadlock, but at least the people involved back then had fought voluntarily, well for the most part as there had always been the odd person who had crossed the gang or posed too big a threat to be released had been forced to fight, but it was nothing like this. He felt sick as he let his gaze rove over the neighbouring cages. Some of the prisoners here were barely in their teens, whilst some had to be close to seventy or older. There was no discrimination against age or sex here, men and women caged next to one another, and for a moment there was a spark of anger. How had no one noticed that this was happening?

   The anger went as swiftly as it had come, because he knew how these things worked and he knew that the only organisation that would’ve been likely to notice the pattern and have the power to act was Overwatch, and they were gone. He closed his eyes, snorting under his breath unable to miss the irony that the very organisation that he had fled, the one that crumbled to the ground under its own weight, was the only one that could’ve helped, and it was gone. There was no one coming, there was no one left to come for him or these people. Which meant that he had to do something. Not that he wouldn’t have anyway, because it wasn’t in his nature to sit around and wait for a rescue, something that had landed him in trouble more than once in the past.

   The main problem at the moment was that apart from being let out to use the bathroom, although he was reluctant to call the tiny, grimy room by that name, he had been kept caged. And despite numerous attempts to break the bars, there was nothing he could do from here. He needed to get out and see what else he had to work with, if anything, but he had a feeling that if he left this room it wasn’t going to be a good thing.

“You’re still trying to escape, aren’t you?” Genji’s quiet voice broke into his thoughts and he looked up to see the other man peering through the bars at him. They had spoken quite a bit over the last couple of days, never anything too deep or personal, but McCree had been left with the impression that they had been very similar at some point. Something telling him that Genji hadn’t always been the obedient prisoner he appeared to be now, and he wondered just what had happened to break him. He hadn’t asked yet, and he figured now wasn’t the time either, but at the same time he had no intention of abandoning his efforts to escape.

“That’s not going to change.” If joining Blackwatch had taught him anything, it was that something would always work out in the worst situations. He remembered sitting in that cell, waiting to be thrown into jail and for the key to be tossed away, instead he had been offered a chance and whilst everything had gone to hell later, he had never regretted it. “One way or another, I’m going to get us out of here.”

“One way or another, could well end up in an unmarked hole in the ground. Is that what you want?”

“No, but…” McCree cut himself off as he spied movement at the end of the room, and Genji immediately followed suit, hunkering down on himself as the newcomers glanced around before focusing on their corner of the row. McCree growled in the back of his throat as they moved closer, recognising them from previous days, anticipation flooding him as they headed in their direction. Was he finally going to get a chance? He doubted that he would break free this time, which meant that he was going to have to fight. Fight and win to make sure he got another chance to try, but at least it was a chance and he leant forward, practically quivering with anticipation.

“Win some and lose some,” Genji hissed urgently, realising that McCree was focused rather than afraid like the others around them were and he glanced anxiously at the approaching men, clutching the bars between them, knuckles turning white. “You don’t want to win them all.”

“Why not?” McCree risked glancing away from the approaching man, surely winning was better, especially if it kept you alive long enough to escape.

“If you rise too high they make you face their champion,” Genji whispered, voice dropping until McCree had to lean forward to catch the words and he frowned. There it was again, the flicker in Genji’s expression, the guilt that made it seem as though he had some larger role in this than he was letting on and yet McCree was more convinced than ever that he was just as much a victim as the rest of them.

“Champion?”

“He’s been here longer than anyone.” There was pain in Genji’s voice now as well as guilt and McCree was dying to demand a proper explanation, but they were running out of time, and Genji was leaning in, words tumbling over one another to get them out in time. “If you face him, you die. It doesn’t matter how good you are, or who you are. You will die.”

“But you didn’t,” McCree murmured, catching the way Genji was rubbing at the scars on his chest, and he knew he had hit the nail on the head when Genji flinched at his words, a full body movement that had him hunkering down on himself as he shook his head. “Jesse…don’t…”

   There was no time to say anything else, because the men were there and staring down at him and McCree bared his teeth at them, making no effort to move towards them even when they leaned down and unlocked his cage. Freedom lay beyond them, and something twisted in his chest at the sight of the open air behind them, with no bars between him and the air, but he held himself in place. Now was the time to wait and watch, and to mull over what Genji had and hadn’t told him he amended, realising that Genji was gone from the side of the bars, hiding in the corner of his own cage.

“Out.” It wasn’t shouted, but there was a forcefulness behind the word that told McCree these men were used to being obeyed. It was a tone that Reyes had perfected, although the threat behind it had usually been extra training or paperwork. Somehow, he didn’t think that was the kind of punishment that would be used here, and even though it rankled to show them any obedience, McCree’s wounds were still healing, and he had no intention of making his efforts any harder just because he was stubborn.

   Without a word, he scooted forward and out of the cage, grunting as he was clipped around the ear, a warning shot he realised as he fought back the urge to lash out. Still it was hard to let them grab him, manhandling his arms behind him and binding them together, the rope biting into his skin and he hoped they weren’t going to leave him like that for long. He was quiet through it though, and he only broke his silence when one of them clipped his side, unable to hold back a groan as agony lanced through his ribs. Their only response was to laugh, although they avoided his side as they pushed him forward and he had a feeling they were revising his chances, no doubt planning on making a pretty penny on what was about to happen and keeping his head down, he let a smirk play along his lips. If they thought this injury would hold him back then they had no idea who he really was, which meant that he was at an advantage.

**

   He kept his head down as they moved out of the room where they had been keeping him caged but hidden by his hair his eyes were constantly moving and taking in as much detail as possible. The corridors they were following were far cleaner than he had expected and well lit, to the point where it was painful after the partial light of the main room. He noted multiple turnings, and he wondered just how many other rooms there were with captives. Genji had spoken about this Champion, but the fact that he hadn’t pointed him out suggested that he wasn’t in their room. Was he the only one kept separate? Or were there more? McCree prayed he was the only one, because he had already decided that he was getting as many people out as possible, and more rooms and more people meant that he was less likely to succeed.

“Keep moving.” He grimaced as he was cuffed again, realising he had paused at the thought of there being more prisoners and he hastily started to walk again. Counting openings and looking for any sign that any of them lead out of there, noting that the further along they got, the cold concrete gave way to metal walls and then there was steps, and he let them shove him up, trying to just keep his balance.

   He could hear voices now. Lots of voices. Cheering and jeering, nothing like the quiet, frightened whimpers and whispers in the prison room and his eyes narrowed. Just how big was this mess? He had known there would be an audience. Hell, he had even been to see a couple of cage fights whilst he was on the road, but this sounded like it was on a whole different scale.

_We fight and eventually we die._

   For the first time, he began to think that Genji possibly had a better grasp on the situation than he did, but he quashed that thought before it could take hold, adopting a blank expression as he realised they were approaching a set of double doors, the noise louder than ever. _Don’t let them see your fear._ That had been drilled into his head from the moment he had joined Deadlock, and the advice, which had been delivered with a sharp punch to the gut at the time had stayed with him over the years.

   He was grateful for it when he was shoved roughly through the doors, biting his lip hard enough to draw blood as his ribs protested the treatment. But the pain was forgotten in the face of the roar that greeted his entrance and he blinked, lifting his head and struggling to maintain his mask, eyes widening as he took in the arena he was standing in. About the size of the village hall where his mother had once forced him to take Line-dancing lessons, it was larger than anything he had envisioned, the sand covering it dirty and he refused to let his gaze linger on spots that were dyed various shades of red. Taking a deep breath, he lifted his gaze to the stands surrounding the arena. These comprised of rows of hard plastic chairs, arranged in rows that rose towards the ceiling and nearly every seat was filled with men and women who were staring down at him, jeering and cheering, whispering amongst themselves as they callously weighed up his odds.

_What is this?_

   This was more than he had expected and now all those turnings in the corridor made sense, to fuel something like this, they would need more than the poor people in his room and his hands clenched, his anger growing. How could this have been missed? Even without the resources that Overwatch had provided, someone should have been capable of picking up on this…someone had to know.

   It was only when his hands fell to his sides that he realised they had freed him, and he glanced over his shoulder at them, even as he massaged his arm where the rope had bitten in, glad for his prosthetic arm as it flexed and moved easily. He wasn’t harmless even as feeling began to slowly creep back into his flesh and blood hand. “Don’t lose too quickly,” one man muttered in his ear and McCree had half a second to note the soft, midwestern accent before he was being shoved forward to a fresh roar from the crowd, and as he steadied himself he heard an announcer listing off what little they knew about him. Grimacing as they listed his broken ribs and prosthetic, warning his potential opponents of his weaknesses and strengths, but he forced himself to stay calm and straighten, standing tall.

   As more doors on the far-side of the arena opened, McCree thought back to Genji’s frantic advice and grimaced even as he apologized to him in his mind. There was no way he was going to risk losses, knowing that it would mean more injuries and possibly more time in this hell hole. If facing the Champion got him even a step closer to freedom then he would have to take that chance, and hope that it didn’t kill him in the process.

   There was a man approaching him across the sand now, and McCree’s attention snapped to him. There was a haunted expression in the gaunt face, the scars covering his bare torso attesting to the fact that he had been here a long time and McCree tensed, taking half a step back, his gaze never leaving the other man. The way he walked, the calmness. He had done this a long time, he knew how to fight and how to win, and there was no sign that he was going to hesitate, and McCree sighed. He didn’t want to fight, not like this, but there was little choice, even if he could talk the other man into holding back, someone had to win and someone had to lose.

“I’m sorry about this,” McCree muttered as soon as his opponent was in hearing distance, keeping his voice low so that it wouldn’t carry to the crowd who had fallen quiet in anticipation of the fight to come, and he wanted to snarl at them. His words seemed to surprise the other man and then enrage him, the haunted expression disappearing as his lips drew back in a snarl that revealed he had lost more than one tooth to the arena, and then he was on McCree. It had been a long time since McCree had fought like this, nowadays he tended to rely on his gun and he spared a brief thought for his beloved Peacekeeper. He knew that he’d had it the night he was taken, and he didn’t want to think about where she had ended up, deliberately avoiding thinking about it as he planned and plotted and focused on getting out of this situation. But right now. Lying on his back, clawing at his opponent’s neck, whilst doing his best to stop the other man’s grip on his neck from tightening he couldn’t help but miss her comforting, deadly weight.

   Teeth grazed his arm and he growled, forcing himself to focus, pushing the cheers and jeers of the crowd to the back of his mind. He wasn’t there to give them a show. He was there to get out of here. Letting the hours he had spent in the training rooms with Reyes and some of the others pounding him into the ground rise to the surface, he let his grip falter, fooling the other man into thinking he was about to give up. At once his opponent was closing in on him, and McCree moved. Not letting himself think about the fact that the man was just an innocent caught up in this mess, he slammed his elbow into his abdomen, the man’s inexperience showing through as he doubled over gasping for breath. It was a blow an expert could ride out, but McCree wasn’t about to go lightly on him, throwing all his weight into it as he rolled them over, reversing their positions and immediately clamping his metal fingers around the other man’s neck and pressing.

“Give it up,” he hissed, not wanting to take this further, knowing that his prosthetic gave him an advantage in this situation. However, his opponent either didn’t realise that or was refusing to admit it, still gasping from the blow as he began to claw at McCree’s arm with one hand, whilst the other lashed out wildly, and McCree felt blood beginning to trickle down his cheek as a nail caught his skin. It was a minor pain and easily ignored. Less easy to ignore was the next blow which collided with his side, making his vision go black for a moment but he clung on grimly, hating how easy it was to pin the man, and watching his face growing redder and redder by the moment.

   Seconds before he would’ve passed out the man gave a choked gasp, defeat written across his face and at once McCree released him and backed off, watching as impassively as he could as the man rolled onto his side, coughing and spluttering and grasping at his neck. He wouldn’t be fighting again, and slowly McCree lifted his head to look at the audience, their cheers finally reaching his ears again and with the adrenaline from the fight and frustration bubbling up he flipped them off. If this was how they got their jollies, then it made them as bad as the men that had captured him, and he hoped they were ready for the moment it would all come crashing down around them.

**

   Naively he had hoped that would be it for the day. His opponent had been carried away, no doubt back to his cage and he was vaguely aware that he had been declared the winner, numbers and bids going over his head as everyone revised their view of him. He ignored it all, waiting to be tied up and led back to his cage. Instead, the crowd started to quiet again a few minutes later and looking up he felt the colour draining from his face as he saw the far doors opening again, a young woman stumbling through this time and in vain he looked around. He didn’t want to fight anyone else, especially not this woman who was curled in on herself even as she forced herself to move closer, terror written in every movement.

“Damn it…” He could see no pity, no understanding in the many eyes on him and he knew that one way or another this was going to happen. _Win some, lose some_ … for a moment he contemplated doing just that, but then he shook his head. He had to keep going. He had to claw his way up, until he got out of here otherwise this was never going to end.

“P-please…” He blinked, looking up at the woman who had stopped a few feet away, staring at him with wide eyes and he growled low in his throat as he spied the bruises covering her skin. His hands curled into fists and then loosened… he couldn’t…and yet she was making no effort to attack him either, staring at him, tears on her cheeks. “Please, make it quick.” Her words hurt, his breath speeding up when he realised that she had no intention of fighting back, that she had given up the moment she stepped on the sand and yet that wasn’t enough for their audience. “Please…”

   He could understand in a way, better for it to be quick than a drawn-out fight, especially when the advantage was clearly not on your side and yet still he hesitated. He didn’t like fighting for no reason, never had, even in Deadlock he had only fought to protect himself or the others, refusing to take part in the many, pointless scraps.

   He could hear the crowd getting restless and he knew that if they didn’t do something, then their audience or their captors would, and he had a feeling that would be worse than just a loss and so he took a cautious step forward. The relieved expression that greeted his movement made him close his eyes for a second _. I don’t want to do this_. Still her brand of courage was something he had to respond to and he forced himself to open his eyes, to meet her gaze and hold it as he closed the last of the distance between of them. “I’m sorry,” he angled his head, making sure that she was the only one that would see his lips move and hear his words, the tremulous smile that greeted his words making his heart ache. _I’m sorry_ , he darted forward, not giving himself anytime to think about what he was doing.

   She crumpled easily, and for a terrifying moment he thought he had hit her too hard or in the wrong place. It had been years since he’d had to think about taking people down alive, and barely managing to catch her before she hit the sand, he fumbled frantically for a pulse. He only breathed once he found it strong beneath his fingertips. Thank god, he bowed his head, breathing deeply as he tried to calm down, aware of the silence spreading out around him, knowing that they had just broken the rules and hoping that any punishment would be aimed at him alone.

   The woman was roughly yanked out of his hands a few minutes later, and unable to do anything but watch he let them take her, making no effort to rise from the sand as the two that had brought him were joined by several other men. His eyes darted between them, memorising faces even as he noted the weapons they were carrying; rough-hewn bats, a set of knuckle dusters and despite everything he grinned, because this was something he knew, something that he could bear and as they closed in on them he took a deep breath and braced himself.

_Let them come._

**

   Genji was waiting for him when he was finally dragged back to his cage hours later, the younger man pressed against the bars and staring at him in horror as he was tossed carelessly into the cage. If he had thought that their beating would be the end of it, he had been worse than naïve. They had given him a break, let him drink some water and then tossed him back on the sands. Their punishment had left him unable to see out of his right eye, broken several of his fingers and left him unable to move without bruises and cuts protesting. It had slowed him down, but it hadn’t stopped him. Still it had meant that he’d accumulated more cuts and bruises, barely scraping through some of the fights and now that he was on the ground he wasn’t sure that he could get up again.

   It was only the fear in Genji’s voice as he repeatedly called his name that made him move, groaning as he rolled onto his back, barely aware of Genji falling quiet as he got a good look at his front which bore the worst of the damage. “I’m still alive” he mumbled, squinting through his good eye and trying for a reassuring grin, although feeling the cut on his lip still bleeding, he had a feeling it was more worrying than anything else.

“You didn’t lose, did you?”

“No.”

“You’re going to get yourself killed,” Genji whispered and McCree sighed, slowly pushing himself upright, arms trembling from the effort and he swayed a couple of times before manging to make it vertical.

“Maybe.” He knew that there was a very good chance of that being the outcome, especially if he got caught trying to escape. It was a risk worth taking. “It’s better than wasting away in here.” He saw Genji flinch at his words, and worried at his bottom lip, hissing as he remembered why that was a bad idea and immediately releasing the abused area. “Which makes me wonder, why you’re still here.” Subtlety had never been his strong point, even at the height of his Blackwatch days and he knew from the way that Genji had just gone rigid, that he had hit the nail on the head and possibly ruined any chance of getting any answers out of him. “You…” He started to explain where he was coming from when Genji shook his head, lips trembling for a moment, fingers clawing at the scars on his chest before he lifted his head and met McCree’s gaze.

“I’m here because my brother is…”

“Your brother?” That was not what McCree had been expecting. Some part of him had expected that Genji had got caught up in the wrong crowd, tried to get out and wound up trapped instead,  it would’ve explained the fact that he seemed to have been treated marginally better even though he seemed to know how everything worked,  something McCree had been putting down to old allegiances being hard to throw out.

“Hanzo…” Genji whispered, and McCree turned the name over and over in his head, memorising it even though he had no idea what use it would be. “He ran away from home years ago. He was supposed to inherit the family…business when our father died, but it was a burden he didn’t want, and he fled instead, cutting off all contact even with me.” Genji might have understood the decision, but it was clear that it had hurt him, and McCree tried not to think about how he had done the same when he had left Blackwatch, although Zurich had made it impossible for him to go back even if he’d wanted to. “I tried to find him at the time, but he had gone to ground. Disappeared almost like he had never existed, and part of me couldn’t blame him and so I let him go.”

“But…”

“We had reports that he had been seen,” Genji replied, gaze distant. “Two, three years ago… rumours of a man for hire, an assassin, who would do anything for the right price. A man that bore an incredible likeness to Hanzo, and who had a tattoo that sounded exactly like his.”

“You followed up on it,” it wasn’t really a question, it was obvious that Genji cared for his brother even after being abandoned and for him to be here because of his brother…there was no way he could have ignored information like that.

“I found him,” Genji nodded, taking a deep breath to steady himself before continuing. “Confronted him. He didn’t want to speak to me, didn’t want to admit to who he was, but he was breaking towards the end, and then…” He trailed off, unable to continue and instead waved a hand at the surroundings and McCree nodded in understanding. They had been caught like he was, their reunion cut off and replaced by this hell. “He’s still alive though and that’s why I stay and why I don’t rock the boat, because I tried…once… and they hurt him in my place. If I behave, and he fights, we both stay alive and for me that is worth more than freedom…” McCree could hear the lie in his words, but he could also understand why he was lying. It was easier than admitting that he wanted something that he might never get again, at least not without paying a steep price. “Jesse…”

“It’s okay, I understand.” And he did, but that didn’t mean that he could stop on his own path, or that he was going to back down from facing the Champion and he sighed, before turning so that he was facing Genji properly. “But, you know I’m going to have to fight him, don’t you?”

“How, did you…?”

“Know that your brother is the Champion?” McCree finished gently, and Genji nodded. “You said that anyone who faces him dies, and then you told me what your brother does…did…it was easy to put the pieces together. Besides, he’d have to be fairly high up for his continued fighting to protect you.”

“I’m sorry.”

“Why are you apologising?” McCree asked, genuinely confused and Genji blinked at him, caught by surprise by the response.

“I lied and I know you’re right, that staying here is the wrong path, but…”

“He’s your brother,” McCree cut him off, understanding. How many times had he done stuff he didn’t agree with just to protect others? It was one of the many reasons he had eventually had to leave Blackwatch behind, and why he had never considered going back and his lips twitched up into a reassuring grin. “I get it.”

“But you’re not going to stop.” It wasn’t really a question and McCree didn’t waste any time responding, and for few minutes there was nothing but silence between them, and he let himself slide down and lie on the floor again, the day catching up on him. He was starting to doze off, exhaustion pressing on him when Genji spoke again. “When you face him…tell him that this wasn’t his fault, tell him that I don’t hate him. Please, at least let him know that much.”

“I will.”

****

   McCree’s days took on a pattern after that. He was given a day of rest in between fighting days, although the hours spent lying in the cramped space of his cage, with what passed for food and water in this place did little to help him recover. And he was glad that he never got a chance to see his reflection, Genji’s increasingly nervous glances in his direction, and the worry that the younger man couldn’t hide telling him that he was a mess.  With each new fight came new wounds, either from opponents pushed to the edge, or from their captors when he broke the rules.

   He bore it all without complaint, never breaking, never bowing down, but never fighting it either and slowly, painfully slowly he began to climb through the ranks. There was never any official announcement, at least not within his hearing, although he tended to avoid listening when they were whipping the audience into a frenzy, because the crowd still made his blood boil and he had to stay focused for as long as possible. However, there were little signs that showed he was going up. The appearance of a proper blanket in his cage after a particularly bad day of fighting, which had left him with finger shaped bruises around his neck and a bloody gash behind his ear. The portions of food were bigger and marginally better quality too, although he rarely benefited from that as he would trade it with people within reach of his cage. He even got a proper shower every few days, and on particularly bad days he would go back and find medical supplies waiting for him in the corner of his cage.

   The downside came in his opponents. As the days crept into weeks, he found himself facing men and women who meant business, the haunted look in their eyes accompanied by a thirst to survive and reach the top. These were people who had been here a long time. People like him, who were trying to claw the way to the top and were reluctant to let him stand in their path. Those fights were long and bloody, dirty tactics met with dirty tactics, the sand beneath their feet churned into a frenzy and stained red with both combatants’ blood. Those were the fights where his victories were hard won, often claimed by the skin of his teeth, each desperate cry of denial from his opponents etched into his memory, the loathing in their eyes as they saw him inching closer to the one position that would even grant them more power or free them from his hell cutting him to the core. He wished that he could tell them that he was planning on getting out of here and then coming back to tear this place apart. That with time they would all have freedom. But the words were left unspoken, and so he did what he could, memorised those dark glares and frantic cries, their faces, their voice and moved on, standing tall as the audience roared and clapped his victories.

He hated it all.

****

   He knew that something had changed that morning, because he was roused with proper food for breakfast rather than the rough bread and water they were usually given first thing. His mouth practically watering at the sight of porridge, even if it looked rather grey and smelt like no porridge he’d ever eaten before, and for once he ate the fancier food himself. He knew this was a sign that something was happening, and that he would need whatever strength he could muster. Which wasn’t a lot, his body slowly failing him after the days, weeks…months? He had no idea how long he had been here, the only time he glimpsed sunlight was in the arena above and there was never a chance to work out what time of day it was, and to be honest he didn’t want to know, didn’t want to know how long he had been stuck in this hellhole, and so he ate silently and quickly and waited for what was to come.

   It was a few hours later. A lot later than they normally came for him on a fighting day, and it wasn’t even a fighting day he had realised a little while before, and he was tense as he watched them approach. Even this was different, his breathing speeding up slightly as he spied the chains in their hands, something they had never bothered with before and he shared a quick glance with Genji, the other man’s trembling nod told him everything he needed to know.

He was going to face the Champion. He was going to face Hanzo.

 _I’ll tell him_ , he mouthed at Genji praying that the other man would understand because he didn’t dare say anything with the men closing in on him, the tiny nod reassuring him that the message had been received and he took a deep breath and moved to the door to wait. He made no effort to fight when he was dragged more roughly than normal from his cage, although he had to grit his teeth as they chained his arms behind his back, attaching it to another set around his ankles, limiting him to a slow awkward shuffle. As they forced him forwards, he wondered why they bothered. Were they expecting him to fight back because of who he was facing? Perhaps there were others who had done just that, or maybe it was just for theatrics. Either way the restraints made him nervous, the walk to the arena seeming to last far longer than usual.

   The arena was the same as always, the sand dirtier than it had been that first day and there was fresh blood indicating that he wasn’t the first to set foot on it today. Still, perversely he found the familiar set up comforting and he took a deep breath, obediently letting them push him into the middle before they began to remove the chains, and he breathed easier when the restraints fell away. A small part of him had been wondering if they were going to make him fight like that, but now he moved, not enough to seem like a threat, just rubbing the ache out of his flesh wrist and moving his feet from side to side. It did little to help the bone-deep throbbing that came with each movement, but it calmed him and for now that was the best he could hope for.

“So, what’s the occasion?” He asked, unsurprised when his only response was a rough shove that sent him stumbling forward and he hastily regained his balance and shot them a scowl over his shoulder, before his attention moved to the other side of the arena. There was no sign of movement yet, but the audience seemed restless, the usual cheers and jeers absent as they muttered to one another, studying him and then glancing at the other doors and he ducked his head with a slight grin. Clearly, he was giving them pause for thought as he hadn’t lost a single fight since his arrival, although it had been too close more times than he cared to admit. Idly he wondered if they would make or lose money on him today before dismissing it, even if they won he hoped they wouldn’t have long to enjoy it, although he had no idea what he was going to do beyond this fight.

   Despite his best efforts he had to admit that there were few holes to slip through in this place, and he had a growing fear that even if he did manage to get out of this fight and out of the arena, that would be as far as he got. It was a terrifying thought. One that had kept him awake more than he would ever admit to anyone, one that made him question himself every time he stepped up to fight or stood over a downed opponent. _Was it worth it?_

   A ripple of sound had him looking up, breath catching as he realised that the other doors were finally opening, and he tensed, hands curling into fists at his side as he took in the solitary figure who stepped out, even the guards were keeping their distance. _You will die_ , Genji’s warning that he hadn’t thought about in ages flashed through his mind and he swallowed past a sudden lump in his throat, as it dawned on him properly for the first time that he really might die. That it might be his blood that soaked the sand after this. He didn’t move back though, holding himself in place and studying the approaching man.

   He was small, at least a head shorter than Genji possibly more. He hadn’t seen Genji outside of his cage more than a handful of times, and he was usually stooped, back protesting after being in the confines of the cage for so long, so it was hard to tell how tall he really was. But he was certain that Hanzo was short, and was slight with it as well, although it looked as though he had been fed well because of his efforts, and what bulk he did have seemed to be pure muscle. McCree sighed because that would even out most of the advantage his own height would have given him, but even a slight edge was good at this stage.

   Slowly he let his gaze rove upwards, noting the tattoo that Genji had told him about, some kind of family tradition apparently. It was beautiful. He almost snorted at his own thought, as though beauty had a place in here. Still. he had to admit that there was something about the man in front of him, taking in the sharp features, the greying hair at the temples and wondering how much of it was because of this hell hole. Then he finally let himself meet the other’s gaze. _You will die_. For the first time outside his doubts he believed Genji. There was no sign of the haunted look that the other fighters bore, instead the dark eyes were like ice, emotionless and fixed on a goal. He knew that look, those kind of eyes, he had seen them in plenty of people over the years and every one of them had been killers.

   He could feel his already slim chances of success slipping through his fingers, but he refused to let that show, drawing himself up to his full height although he doubted it would have much effect on this man and sure enough there wasn’t even a flicker. “So, you must be the champion they were warning me about,” he grinned, knowing that it looked forced and prayed that his hand wouldn’t tremble as he thrust it out in greeting. “The name’s McCree.” He knew that names had no place here, in fact apart from Genji’s name and the name of his current opponent, he knew no one here, and he doubted that Hanzo cared to know his, still he felt a need to even the field as he already knew Hanzo’s. “Jesse McCree.”

“I do not care.”

   It took him a moment to realise that Hanzo was the one who had spoken, the words so soft he almost thought he had imagined them. His voice matched his expression, cool and impassionate and McCree fought back a sigh. he hadn’t thought this man would be quite so different from his brother, and yet it was clear that they were like day and night and he worried at his bottom lip. “I figured you wouldn’t.” He wasn’t sure he would want to know names either if he was expected to kill them, but if he was going to die today, then he wanted to die as Jesse McCree and not some nameless prisoner, taking a deep breath he lifted his head again. “I figure you don’t know many names here, do you Hanzo?”

   That got a reaction, just not the one he had been aiming for. Faster than he could follow Hanzo charged at him, and only a desperate twist to the side at the last minute stopped his fingers from closing on McCree’s throat. It was a hold he had escaped numerous times in this arena, but he had a feeling that if he let this man get hold of him, there would be no escape. A blow to the side of his neck had him stumbling back, gasping for breath and he caught a brief glimpse of stormy eyes and realised that Hanzo was serious, hope abandoning him then. He’d hoped to have a chance to say what was needed, to maybe find an ally, or at least buy enough time to get a read on him and how to beat him. Instead he had no choice but to lunge forward, thanking god that he’d spent time training with Lena in the past because otherwise he would never have caught up with Hanzo’s speed.

   There was a satisfying crack as his hand caught Hanzo’s nose, and he had an impression of blood beginning to stream from the injury before he found himself on his back, staring up at the roof, his body taking a moment to register the fresh pain that was now radiating through him from the impact. There was the quietest of movements, but it was the only warning he got, flinging himself desperately to the side just in time to avoid the foot that hit the space where his head had been. Rolling, he caught the foot before Hanzo could spring back, reversing their positions. It did him little good though, because by the time he had staggered back to his feet, Hanzo was already back on his feet and bearing down on him, lips drawn up in a snarl.

   It was the most emotion he had shown so far, and perversely McCree felt smug at the sight of it. He had a feeling that most of Hanzo’s opponents had fallen to the first attack without doing any damage, and he was glad to have broken the pattern, although as he was forced to retreat under a flurry of blows he realised there was no time to feel smug.

   The next few seconds were a blur of twisting hands and feet, of bloody snarls and pain. Even as he staggered and struggled to meet the next attack, McCree wondered how many people had fallen to this man. How long had he been the ‘champion’? If he’d had enough breath he might have asked, but he was panting, chest heaving and sweat dripping down his face as he dove under another blow, attempting to bring his weight into it and get Hanzo on the ground. Instead the smaller man ducked beneath him with a speed and grace that left McCree in the dust, and then there was a hand in his shirt yanking him downwards, and gravity did the rest. Pain exploding as he landed face first, and he could feel blood trickling down his face even as he was hauled onto his back as Hanzo crouched on top of him, one hand firmly pressed against his neck, not tight enough to suffocate him…yet. “Any last words?”

   From the murmuring of the crowd, McCree guessed that this wasn’t usual for Hanzo and he coughed, fighting to get enough air to speak as he sensed this might be his only chance. “Genji…” Something flickered in the dark eyes, and Hanzo’s fingers tightened marginally and he hurriedly continued before he could be silenced. “Genji wanted me to tell you that this wasn’t your fault.” There it was, the same guilt that he had seen in Genji’s eyes at the start only more profound, and his voice softened as he added. “That he doesn’t hate you.” The fingers were tightening again and for a horrifying moment he thought that was it, that his last gamble had failed and despite himself he found his eyes closing, not wanting to see his failure, his death, but then the grip loosened slightly.

“W-Where did you hear that name?”

“From Genji himself,” McCree replied, cautiously opening his eyes again just in time to catch the furious expression that greeted his words.

“You lie.”

“What would I gain from lying to you?”

   Hanzo seemed flummoxed both by the speed of his response and the words himself, and McCree waited, holding his breath and highly aware that the audience was silent and waiting for his demise. Aware that everything balanced on the edge of a knife right now, and that he had little say in which side it was going to come down on. “But…they released him,” Hanzo whispered, more to himself than McCree who had a feeling that he was trying to convince himself. That he had been trying to convince himself for a long time, and he held his peace, watching and waiting to see which side the coin would fall on. “It was the price for…all this…”

“And they promised him that if he behaved and you fought, that you would both be kept alive,” McCree finally risked speaking again, unsurprised when Hanzo’s fingers tightened again. McCree had clung to his sanity by holding onto the belief that he could win and get out of here, clearly Hanzo had done the same with the belief that his brother was free. Right now, they were both having everything stripped from them, because as much as he didn’t want to admit it, he wasn’t a match for Hanzo. Even if he had been fully rested and fed, he doubted that he would have been able to win, his only hope lay now in his words getting through to Hanzo. “But we know that’s a lie, if I was in a position to kill you no one would stop me.” Hanzo met his gaze for a moment, both recognising the truth in that statement. The audience didn’t care for promises or families, they wanted a winner to cheer on, or someone to turn the tables…they wanted entertainment.

“I agreed to stay and fight for him,” Hanzo glanced to the side, his grip on McCree’s neck loosening, whilst his other hand curled into a fist against his chest. “They showed me that he was free, they…”

“Lied,” McCree finished for him, feeling a little sympathy for him, they must really have wanted Hanzo to fight for them if they’d gone so far in their deception, not that he could blame them as it was clear the man was a natural fighter. “Your brother is a good man. He wants to fight, he wants freedom. But more than anything he wants you to be safe, which is why he sits there and toes the line. Why he told me not to try and fight this.” That was a slight bend in the truth, but he figured that Genji would prefer that to him telling Hanzo that Genji knew he was killing people for him, or that he had told McCree that he would die if they faced one another.

“Genji…”

   The blank mask had been ripped away and McCree froze, caught by the rawness of the emotions on Hanzo’s face. He had been hard pressed to see the man that Genji had talked about in the few tales of his past that he had shared in Hanzo, but now he could see it and he swallowed, almost regretting his words. And he was caught by surprise when the hand vanished from his neck, followed by the weight on his chest as Hanzo rose smoothly to his feet. “I should have killed you at the start.” McCree tensed at the words, blinking when rather than the pain he had been half expecting, he found a hand being extended to him, Hanzo staring at him expectantly. Not sure what was going on, and still waiting for the next blow McCree cautiously grasped it, groaning as he let the other man haul him to his feet.

   Now that he was back on his feet, he could see movement by the doors and his eyes narrowed as he realised that the guards were gathering as above them the crowd grew more and more restless at the lack of violence and death. “Not to alarm you partner, but I get the feeling that if we don’t finish things, they might do it for us.”

“This is why I should have just killed you,” Hanzo repeated with a sigh before turning to look at him, and McCree couldn’t stop himself recoiling slightly, unable to forget just how fast the other man was when he wanted to me, blinking at the smirk that greeted his movement. “If I was going to kill you, you would be dead already.” _You will die…_

“Really?” McCree could vaguely hear Ana and Reyes’ voices in the back of his head screaming at him to be quiet, to hold his tongue for once, but despite the situation a curious sense of relief had gripped him, and he couldn’t stop the words from coming. “It seemed like you were trying fairly hard and yet here I stand.”

“Yet here you stand,” Hanzo agreed, eyes shifting to the movement by the door for a moment. “Tell me, Jesse McCree, why didn’t you try to kill me? You’ve killed before…not here maybe, but somewhere out there you’ve killed.”

   McCree hesitated for a moment, uncomfortable at being called out, before he sighed and nodded. “I’ve killed, more than I care to admit. But there was always a reason.” Not always a good reason but it had never been completely mindless, even when he was a wild kid living with Deadlock and sometimes that was the only thing that let him sleep at night. “Killing you would have been pointless unless it guaranteed that I could get out of here, and get the others out too…” It sounded hopelessly naïve spoken aloud, and he laughed, a bitter, brittle sound as he realised that, trailing off when he realised that Hanzo was staring at him, studying him as though he had never seen him before.

“You would bring all of this down?”

“Yes.” It might be a pipe dream, a naïve dream he had clung to, trying to escape the fact that he would probably die in this place, but he had meant it. There would be no peace for him if he escaped and left everyone else behind. It would join Zurich in haunting his dreams and he wasn’t strong enough for that, not anymore, if he had ever been.

   McCree blinked realising that Hanzo was holding a hand out to him again, expression grim but resolved as he met McCree’s startled gaze with his own. “What?” _What is happening?_ He had strange feeling of disconnection as he studied Hanzo, hearing the crowd in the distant and aware that the guards were finally moving, heading for them with a purpose.

“We will probably die here, Jesse McCree,” Hanzo murmured. “But at least it would be for a reason.”

“But Genji…”

“I hope that he will forgive me for this,” Hanzo whispered and McCree could see the struggle, the desire to protect his brother warring with a desire for something more and suddenly all he could see was the similarities between the two brothers who had endured more than most people could, just to try and protect the other. “But you said it yourself, he wants more than this. He deserves more than this.” There was pain in those words, and guilt and it dawned on McCree that whilst this man was a killer and good at it, he had spent the last few years fighting with the knowledge, that he had led his brother into this mess in the first place. He had stayed not only to keep the promise that was supposed to be ‘protecting’ his brother, but to make amends for his role in it and he found his heart going out to the other man, wishing that he had the words to soothe away that guilt, but knowing that only Genji had that power. “I would have fought for him sooner, if I had known…if I had let myself see the lie.”

“Hanzo…”

“Will you fight with me, Jesse McCree?” Hanzo cut him off, nodding to the men closing in on them and the weapons they were holding. McCree followed his gaze, took in the weapons and the expressions that showed a mixture of wariness as they eyed the pair of them, and hunger for a fight and slowly a grin spread across his lips. He hadn’t fought them before, he had played the role of an obedient captive. He didn’t need to do that anymore, and he had a feeling that none of them had ever faced Hanzo before and after their fight he knew that nothing these men were capable of would stop the smaller man, and he dared to let himself hope even as he reached out and grasped Hanzo’s hand.

“It would be my pleasure.”


End file.
